Precious, but no, not invaluable,
Seemingly colorful and yet, not quite so,
partly similar, to an allegorical fable,
So deceptive, neither of amity, nor a foe.
An onyx, king of all possible paradox
Not unlike, a soulful of hurried, inked thoughts,
An equilibrium, of eclipse and equinox,
overwhelmingly significant unconnected dots.
Incongruous stone, darkly beauteous as night,
Invisible,though, with an unfathomable glare
With tireless glitter,conspicuously bright,
Meandering forever, neither here, nor there.
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strangely, I seem stuck onto paradoxes.
Do share your views and opinions in the comments below!
-wordalmaniac
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Wordalmania
Poetry#14 on 8 March 2017 Poetry, Prose. Words bled from the very soul. Musings of an occasional poetess. 'Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words. It is an abstract art, and I am, but a mere artist ' - Edgar Allan Poe ©wordalmaniac 2016
